Then Nightmares are Made of This Affair
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: A sequel to That Dreams are Made of This Affair. Rapidly aging, it's a race for the agents to discover an antidote before they die of old age.


Napoleon coughed and pushed the stool off of him. It fell to one side with a loud clatter. He gave himself a shake, much as a dog would and got to his feet with the help of a lab table.

"Illya?"

A cough greeted him and a pile of debris shifted. "Here."

Napoleon waded through the ocean of fallen acoustical tile, spilled and broken beakers and other assorted glassware to Illya's side. "What happened?"

"Don't know. Must have hit a trip wire of something." Illya coughed again and Napoleon pounded him on the back, grimacing as clouds of white powder resulted.

"You look like someone has bombed you with flour." He waved his hand in front of his face.

Illya bent over and ran his fingers through his hair, fluffing it. More white powder cascaded down. Instinctively, Napoleon pulled away.

"You look like an ad for _Head and Shoulders._" Napoleon took out his handkerchief and offered it to his partner. Illya used it and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. "Hey, that's mine. It's monogrammed and everything."

"I shall return it to its proper owner after I have it cleaned and pressed. It's only right."

"Since you put it that way." Napoleon looked around at the destroyed lab. "Any idea what they were up to?" He started to poke through the rubble.

"No, but we should have their notes in here… some place. Not to mention the two scientists."

"Um, make that one scientist." Napoleon knelt by the woman and felt for a pulse. "This one has made the journey to Happy Mad Scientist Land." Napoleon pulled a piece of Formica table top from the dead woman's face. "A piece of glass severed her jugular. She bled out within seconds."

Illya dusted off his jacket and began to sift through the tangled mess by him. He spotted a pair of legs. "Napoleon!"

Napoleon stumbled across the lab to him while Illya removed the debris piled upon the man. One look told Illya that this person was soon going to join his co-worker.

"Doctor, be calm, help is on the way."

"Too late… for any of us now…" The man wheezed and his face twisted into a grotesque smile. "But I have… the… last… la…" The man's head lolled and Illya eased him back down to the floor.

"The last laugh, I wonder what he meant by that?" Illya exchanged a puzzled look with Napoleon.

"No idea. Let's call in a clean-up squad and call it a day."

"Good idea. I could use a shower."

Illya shifted in bed and winced. Everything hurt this morning, but then and again, he was grabbed at a courier drop, cold conked, and then tossed across a lab yesterday. He rubbed his shoulder, thinking, _Hmm, must have been a Tuesday._

He sat up, grimacing at the various painful pulls in his muscles and an overall ache. After a moment, he mustered enough _umph_ to make it to the bathroom. He started the shower, undressed and turned to the medicine cabinet for some aspirin. Then he gasped at his reflection. His hand stroked his cheek and he frowned.

"What the hell?"

Turning off the shower, he went to his nightstand and grabbed his communicator. "Open Channel D, please. Napoleon, are you awake?"

"I hope not." Napoleon's answer was immediate.

Illya carried the communicator back into the bathroom and touched the mirror and then his face. A fifty-year old man looked back at him. "Napoleon, what has happened to us?"

Napoleon Solo studied his own reflection, grimacing at the shots of gray at both his temples. "I don't know, partner. I truly don't know. I'll be there in forty minutes. Hopefully the doc will have some answers for us."

Dr. Dolberg moved the stethoscope a fraction of an inch and listened, his eyes closed in concentration. With a sigh, he removed the earpieces and shook his head. "Mr. Kuryakin, you are in excellent shape for a man in his fifties."

"I'm thirty three," Illya protested, wincing at a pull in his shoulder as he tugged on his shirt.

"I know, son." Dolberg's voice was soft and comforting, but Illya was having none of it.

"Then what's wrong with me?"

"I have no idea. And believe me, I am as frustrated as you are."

"I've aged twenty years over night, I suspect I have passed your level of frustration and can now clearly see it in my rearview mirror." There was a tap on the door and Napoleon entered followed by a second doctor. "And why do I look older than him when I'm younger than him."

"According to our tests, Mr. Solo is testing out in his mid-forties."

"How is that possible?"

"I don't know. It probably has something to do with that white powder you were covered in. Mr. Solo had more limited contact, so he is responding slower."

"What did the lab have to say about that white powder?" At the doctor's hesitation, Illya's voice grew stern. "Doctor, what did they say?"

"There's been a slight problem…" He turned away and took a deep breath. "It's not good news."

"What the doctor is afraid of reporting is that there are no tests results." Alexander Waverly walking into the exam room and his mouth dropped open. "My word… Mr. Kuryakin?"

"Yes, sir," Illya murmured. "What do you mean, no test results?"

"After you and Mr. Solo left the building, there was another explosion. Three good men lost their lives, but even more devastating, the entire structure was destroyed. There were no samples to be recovered."

"No!" Napoleon said, suddenly. "Illya, my handkerchief? Did you send it for cleaning?"

"No, I stripped off in the locker room and tossed everything in my locker. It should still be there."

"There's your sample, Mr. Waverly." Napoleon looked over at the doctor. "What about us?"

"Well, you are free to go, but we would like to keep Mr. Kuryakin for observation."

"Lab rat, you mean," Illya snapped."

"Well, that's not putting too fine a point on it, yes."

"Mr. Solo, you are needed. We still have many questions that you might be able to help us answer."

Napoleon looked over at his boss, then to his partner.

"Go, Napoleon. It's not likely that I will be of any use to you." Illya was studying his arthritic hand. "Not anymore."

"I'll be back as soon as I can."

Napoleon leaned against a tree for support and let his head drop forward. Two days ago, he could have gone on for hours, but not now. The same symptoms plaguing Illya were catching up with him. In two days, he'd aged nearly thirty years.

Napoleon had returned to Medical, only to be told that Illya had slipped out. The staff saw him as an old man, not as a cunning field agent. Illya's body was old, but his instincts were still sharp. Napoleon suspected Illya walked out from under their noses and Napoleon had ended up spending most of the night looking for Illya.

He shook his head in exasperation and straightened up. His knees ached and his lower back felt as if someone had stuck a knife into it. Still, he hobbled on.

Then, just as the sun was painting the sky a brilliant and awe-striking pink, Napoleon saw Illya sitting on a bench staring out over the river.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Napoleon limped in that direction and gratefully sat down beside the elderly man that was his partner.

"Took you long enough," Illya muttered after a moment. His voice had become reedy and thin sounding.

"Sorry, but even with your current limitations, you are a hard man to find."

They sat there in silence, watching the sky move from purple to rose to a soft pink and finally a powder blue.

"I don't want to die, Napoleon. Not like this." Illya's voice trembled. "I have so many things to do yet."

"I know, Illya. I'm in the same boat as you." Napoleon's hair was white now, his face thickly lined with age.

"I always thought I'd go in a blaze of glory for the greater good. Not…" Illya's head tipped forward and he took a ragged breath. "I'm scared, Napoleon. I'm so scared." The admission was barely a whisper.

"Me, too." Without hesitation or thought, Napoleon draped his arm around Illya's shoulders and pulled him close. For several long minutes, they sat there, united, the bond unbreakable. "Let's get back to HQ. They are probably looking for both of us right now."

Napoleon stared up at the ceiling and inwardly wondered how much time he had left. Another day had brought another fifteen years. Across the room, Illya, now in his nineties, was drifting in and out of consciousness.

The door opened and Napoleon turned his head, then winced at the crack in his neck.

"Growing old is not for the faint of heart, Mr. Solo," Waverly said as he entered. He set his hat on a metal table and walked to Napoleon's side. "How are you doing, son?"

"Surviving, but I'm not so sure about Illya."

"I bring you good news. The labs have created something that they think will counter the aging process."

"They think?"

"They have been unable to test it, so there is the possibility that it might well kill you."

"We are both dying anyway."

"Dr. Dolberg is on his way up to administer it to Mr. Kuryakin. Would you like to be present?"

"Yes, sir, very much."

Waverly helped him climb into a wheelchair. "This is a bit of a twist of the usual arrangement," Waverly murmured as he helped Napoleon settle.

"It has given me a greater understanding and appreciation of the battle you fight every day."

"Yes, but unlike you, I've had a lifetime to prepare for it." He pushed the chair close to Illya's bed and Napoleon found Illya's hand, gnarled and twisted.

Carefully, he picked it up. "Hey, sleepyhead, wake up?"

"What time is it?" Illya muttered.

"Late. THRUSH has flown the coop."

"They always do." Illya opened his eyes, now faded and yellow. One had developed the white glaze of a cataract. "It's real, isn't it? I thought I'd dreamt it."

"Like I did." Napoleon now remembered that terrifying dream. "But ours has a happy ending. The lab boys have created magic."

"An antidote?"

"Or a one-way ticket to the Great Beyond." Napoleon didn't sugarcoat it.

"Headed in that direction anyway. A little extra help won't matter now."

Dr. Dolberg appeared, holding a syringe in one hand. "Is he ready?"

"I am." Illya's voice was strong and certain now.

"We… ah, don't know how this will-"

"Just do it, Doctor. I am not getting any younger."

Nodding, Dolberg slid the needle into the IV port. For several minutes, there was no reaction, then Illya gasped and began to thrash. The EKG monitor began to peak and valley wildly. Napoleon didn't bother with the numbers that sped by.

"Hold him down," Dolberg shouted. Napoleon held Illya's hand as firmly as he could as Illya's body convulsed and heaved. There was a loud groan and Illya grew very still. The EKG emitted a shrill long beep.

"Oh, no," Napoleon groaned. "No, Illya, fight it, don't let this beat you. Come on, you slacker, fight!" He looked back at Dolberg. "Can't you do something?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Solo. He asked that we do nothing if this happened." Dr. Dolberg patted Napoleon's shoulder. "He's gone."

Then there was a beep and then another. "No!" Napoleon shouted happily. "No he isn't." He pointed to the monitor. "Look!" Both Illya's heartbeat and blood pressure were coming back up and then Napoleon looked down at the hand in his. Before his eyes, the hand was growing youthful, the joints shrinking and the skin became supple.

The eyes that opened were clear and bright. "Did it work?" Illya whispered weakly. Napoleon held Illya's hand up for him to see.

"Look for yourself."

"How does it know when to stop?" Waverly asked and Dolberg shrugged his shoulders.

"You will have to ask the boys in the lab, but the way they explained it to me was that Mr. Kuryakin had been taking on all the attributes of aging, but his DNA was still his proper age."

"Then this isn't a Fountain-of-youth serum?" Mr. Waverly sounded a bit disappointed.

"No, it can't make you younger, just the age you are. Besides that, there are only two doses. Are you ready for yours?"

Napoleon hesitated and Illya squeezed his hand and blinked sleepily. "Go on, Napoleon. You make a terrible looking old man." Illya's head drooped and Napoleon felt a surge of panic.

"Illya?"

"He's just asleep, Mr. Solo." Dr. Dolberg murmured, pulling Napoleon away. "After all he went from thirty to ninety back to thirty all in a matter of a few days. That would make anyone tired."

"I guess when you put it that way…" He allowed himself to be lead back to his bed. "Let's get this over with."

Napoleon stared into the mirror, trying to decide if he liked his new look. For some reason, when he returned to his proper age, he was left with a shot of gray at both temples.

"Admiring yourself again, Napoleon?" Illya walked into their office and dropped a large paper sack onto his desk.

"Trying to decide what to do with these." Napoleon turned to one side and then the other. "What do you think? Dashing or just old?"

"I think you should stop being narcissistic and have some lunch." Illya started to unload the bag and Napoleon just watched.

"How many will be joining us in this repast?"

"Just us."

"Illya, you have enough food here to feed an army."

"Napoleon, one thing this little experience of ours taught me is not to put off to tomorrow what you can do today."

"I don't think that means over-eating."

"Why risk it? We've been given a second chance and I'm not going to mess it up by not taking advantage of every moment." Illya took a large bite of his sandwich and chewed happily.

Napoleon watched Illya and knew exactly what he meant. He looked back at his reflection in the mirror and smiled. Today he would eat drink and be merry for tomorrow he would dye. He laughed at his joke and returned to his life and his partner, both very much still in progress at this time.


End file.
